Poems

Sometimes we bury, or we lay away, Our hope of healing while discouragement Seals fast the sepulcher and brings dismay, With hints that useless efforts have been spent. We doubt that we can move the massive stone And feel we lack the strength that prayers command, Forgetting that we do not work alone And that the risen Saviour is at hand.

True joy is now. One asks, But how? I am without.

Be David! Bide your time in the fields. Before now, harp-song has exorcised more than ghosts troubling a king.

Genuine humility— gentle grace— we find in an awareness of our need for Christlike meekness to concede that all true ability has its source in Mind. This vital quality—innate in the lowly Master—made him great.

When clouds begin to clear And birdsong heard Rises with the winging of the bird; Moment when Sound of rain Is music in my heart again; I sing aloud— The sentence is repealed— I can arise to know that I am healed. Rejoice that the Christ Through one who prayed aright Has lifted me from darkness into light.

Though mortal dream call special ones my brothers, I feel relationship with all those others— the so-called strange or sick or lost in sin. O Love, awake my heart to know, I pray, we all are one in God: my brothers—they that I too long have dreamed are not my kin!

A prophet's blessing, who shall earn it? A prophet's vision, who shall discern it? A prophet's mission, who shall turn it back? Who are the space age prophets? They who, Spirit-based, look out from Infinity upon the infinite, their eyes envisioning new dimensions, boundless possibilities; they who forsake their comfortable grooves of thought to follow Christ, obedient, alert to every guiding touch of Truth. These walk by faith; they are the spiritual adventurers.

In the green pastures of my Lord We walk as one. To my appealing For comfort, lo, His tender Word Brings truth's sure healing.

Restless within the ark, shelter divinely provided, I longed for wider space, but the waters had not subsided; the struggle with self went on, though the rain had stopped, and above the sun already shone. The rainbow was still to come.

There is a comfort in the quiet releasing Of cherished aims, to make way for His plan; There is a wondrous peace which comes from climbing Up to the holy place where God sees man. There is a power that lifts the weary seeker Over the mist and into Spirit's light, Into the realm where thought may safely ponder How to obey that tender, healing might.